


Wandering

by ALoza



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 10 year span, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Baby, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALoza/pseuds/ALoza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, Derek, zombies. Not much zombies though. Just some Sterek stuff and coping with the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering

“Give him the bite,” Stiles grits his teeth, blinking tears, and Derek watches them roll down his cheeks, slowing as they reach his chin, before continuing lazily down his throat. His face is flushed and wrecked, mouth quivering as he breathes in unevenly.

Derek frowns, eyes flickering away, anywhere, just not looking at Stiles’ devastated expression.

“Derek,” Stiles pleads. “Please. Give him the bite.” 

Derek winces, swallowing hard, “Stiles, we don’t know what it’ll do to him. The infection...it’s probably already-”

“No,” Stiles beats his palms into Derek’s chest, “no, no, no. He’s not sick. He’s not going to die. Derek, give him the bite, please. Do you want me to beg?” Stiles falls onto his knees, voice broken by deep, guttural sobs. He grips onto Derek’s legs, fingers digging into the denim weakly. He presses his forehead to Derek’s thigh. “Please, Derek. Save him.”

Derek winces, feeling a sting in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I...”

Stiles breaks and curls into himself, sobbing into his hands, rocking against the wall. Something twists inside Derek and he feels sick. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles...”

“I-I-I can’t,” Stiles breathes. “I can’t do it.”

Derek nods in understanding and walks past Stiles, resting his fingers in his hair for just a second, before pushing into the room.

The Sheriff - Stiles’ father, ‘For Christ’s sake, Derek, call me John’ - is a puddle of sweat on the bed, his face red and hot as the fever burns through his body. Derek can already smell the infection boiling in his blood. He winces. This isn’t just a random Wanderer, this is Stiles’ father, a man he’s come to respect and care for. And he’s lying there, dying.

“Derek,” John manages through a dry throat. 

Derek’s at his side, gripping his hand, clutching at the weak flesh desperately. 

“Protect him,” he says, eyes watery. “Protect my son.”

Derek nods fiercely. “Of course.”

John smiles weakly, very weakly. “You’re a good man, Derek. Don’t let him suffer.”

Derek shakes his head. 

“It’s not fair to ask,” he coughs, voice wheezy, lungs straining, “but, please, protect him.”  
 Derek just keeps nodding, feeling stricken. Reality is looming and the infection has already reached John’s heart. 

“Love him,” John gasps. “Love my son.”

Derek winces. “I do.”

John nods and chuckles softly, “Bring him in here. I want to say goodbye.”

Stiles can barely see through his teary eyes, just the vague outline of a dying man, of a his dying father. “Dad.” 

John reaches for him, dragging his fingers down his son’ cheek. “I love you, kiddo.”

“Dad,” Stiles moans. He buries his face into his father’s chest and cringes. He can smell the distinct stink of death already wafting from him. He wants to puke. His dad isn’t supposed to smell like this. It’s not right. 

“Stiles,” Derek growls, pulling him away. 

“I love you, Dad,” he moans. 

John presses a kiss to his forehead and a tear rolls down the side of his face. “Be safe, kid. Watch out for each other.”

Stiles nods, wiping his face with the backside of his hand.

“Don’t let this shithole of a situation harden you,” John says. He coughs violently and clenches his jaw. “I know it’s hard, and that it’ll only get harder, but you can’t...” Another cough rips through his chest. “You can’t lose your humanity. Promise me.”

“I promise, Dad,” Stiles says, clinging to his father’s uniform.

John smiles and closes his eyes, sighing. 

“Dad,” Stiles calls, voice desperate, “Dad, no, Dad, stay awake with me. Dad, daddy.”

Derek lifts him and leads him out of the room. “He’s gone.”

Stiles is alone for a moment, then there’s the bang of a gunshot, and suddenly Derek is back, dragging him out of the motel room.

* * *

“Wanderers?” Derek asks, eyebrows furrowing.

Stiles nods, “Sounds a lot less horrifying than zombies. I know what they are, but calling them ‘Wanderers’ just makes me feel a little less uneasy. Like maybe they’re not trying to kill us, but just...searching.”

John chuckles next to him, peeling an apple messily with his pocketknife, “Just like his mother.”

Stiles smiles. 

* * * 

It’s been three days since they left the motel, three days and Stiles still hasn’t said a word; he stares blankly out the Camaro window, too numb to cry.

“Are you hungry?” Derek asks, maneuvering the car through the graveyard of cars ahead of them. 

Stiles shakes his head and winces when his stomach growls. “A little.”

Derek shuts off the car and reaches for his pack, pulling out a can of fruit cocktail. A single claw tears through the lid and he hands it to Stiles, “Here.”

Stiles nods and smiles weakly, using his fingers to pick through the fruit.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he gasps, crying into the can in his lap in between bites. His lip quivers as he feeds himself. “He’s gone, Derek.”

Derek swallows and squares his jaw, “I know.”

“He wasn’t supposed to get bitten,” Stiles growls. “I shouldn’t have been there with him, I shouldn’t have tagged along. This is my-”

“Stop it,” Derek snaps, turning in his seat. “Stop it. It wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles sobs, “Fuck. I thought I was done crying.” He grabs his head, wincing. “My head.” Derek reaches for him, and suddenly Stiles’ head doesn’t hurt so bad. He feels drained, sleepy, good. 

He leans back, sniffling, “Thank you.”

* *

“Do you think we’ll find them?” Stiles asks, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars splashed across the ceiling. They found the house completely abandoned, and something about it was inviting. Stiles wandered into this room first, and fell onto the soft bed. 

“It’s possible,” Derek says next to him, arms behind his head, taking in the view. 

“If they’re not dead...” Stiles whispers.

“They’re not,” Derek says. “They can’t be. Scott and the others are strong. They’ll keep Allison and Lydia safe.”

Stiles nods and curls up beside him.

“Don’t push me away, okay? I’m cold. Just...for a little while,” he mumbles, wrapping himself under Derek’s arm. Lately his grief has been like a weight, an anchor that drags him down by it’s own volition. 

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek says quietly, taking the hand Stiles has draped across his chest. “Go to sleep.”

***

A baby. The sound of a screaming baby wakes them and Stiles is suddenly very alert.

“Was that...?” he asks, feeling his heart clench in his chest. 

Derek nods. “Yes.”

Stiles throws his legs over the older man, “We have to go find it.”

Derek hisses, “Are you crazy?”

“It’s a baby, Derek. The Wanderers will hear him and...and...”

Derek sees Stiles’ eyes go dark and sighs. “Fine.”

They follow the baby’s cries out of the house; it’s quiet outside, quiet enough to carry the echoes of a screaming infant through the night. The neighborhood must have been nice once, with cookie-cutter homes and expensive cars. But now, everything is trashed.

Derek growls and sniff the air. “There’s someone else.”

Stiles stills beside him, “His mom? Dad?”

Derek shakes his head, “No.”

The cries are coming from the home across the street. Derek takes the helm, hissing at Stiles to stay outside, but Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He grips his father’s pocketknife firmly and follows an angry Derek into the threshold. Immediately he’s affronted by the stink of death. “Jesus.”

The baby’s screams become louder and suddenly they find him, perched on a body, recently dead, body still fresh and warm.

“What the-”

“Stiles take the baby,” Derek says, and Stiles does, cuddling it close to his chest. In a swift movement Derek cracks his knuckles against the dead body’s temple and Stiles feels his stomach roll.

“Was that his...”

“Smells like it.”

***

The baby, they discover, is named Noah. It’s scrawled on his baby bag they find beside his mother’s corpse. There’s a few diapers and wipes, even some baby formula, inside of it and Stiles feels himself relax.

“Noah, stop it,” Stiles says, fussing over the baby, trying to change his diaper.

“You’re a stranger, he’s scared of us,” Derek says, leaning over him.

“I’m not scary,” Stiles whines. He makes a face at the baby, which only makes him cry louder, his cheeks going red from frustration. “Holy hell, what do you want, kid?”

“Move.”

***

“Did you ever imagine that we’d be parents?” Stiles asks, watching Noah sleep through his mirror. He smiles fondly at the infant, feeling his chest flutter.

“We’re not parents, Stiles,” Derek huffs. 

“We’ve been bathing, clothing, changing, and carrying Noah for the past three months, we’re parents.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I love him,” Stiles says, reaching back to hold the baby’s foot gently.

“Yeah, me too.”

***

Stiles is fuming, and Noah sense’s his anger, and bursts into tears the moment Derek opens the door to the cabin.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stiles snarls.

Derek doesn’t look at him, “Out.”

“Two days, Derek. You’ve been gone for two days. I’ve been sitting here, going fucking crazy with a sick baby, and you decide you need some alone time?”

Derek rolls his eyes, and digs through the messenger bag Stiles found for him a few months back. It’s medicine he’s holding when he looks up at Stiles with apologetic eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles relaxes and clutches the baby closer to him.

“I looked everywhere...and I finally found this a few towns away-”

Stiles stops him by pressing his lips gently to his cheek, “Thank you.”

***

Months later, when Noah suddenly goes through a growth spurt, Derek decides he wants to stay on the farm. They found it not too long ago, and they discovered a well that connects to the main house. They waited for a couple of days before settling in.

“It’s not right, lugging him around from place to place,” Derek says.  
 Stiles frowns. “I want to stay here, too, Derek, but how long before a herd of Wanderers comes through? You can’t protect us both.”

Derek clenches his fists. “Yes I can. I promised your father I’d keep you safe.”

“But it’s not just me anymore. We have a baby, Derek.”

Derek furrows his brow. He feels guilt swirl through his gut as he watches Noah step along the couch, grinning up at them excitedly. He loves him, but Stiles...if it came down to it, he’d save Stiles, protect him from the whole god damn world if he had to.

“It’s not safe enough, Derek,” Stiles says, wrapping his arms around his waist, kissing his throat. 

***

The cabin is a godsend, and Stiles is immediately in love.

“Deer, Derek, there are deer!” he crows excitedly.

That night, Derek catches him a deer, and they eat like kings. Noah has started eating solid food, but much prefers the taste of fruits and vegetables to meat.

“We can grow a garden...”

Stiles rambles on over dinner, and Derek smiles at him and his son, who can only ever eat comfortably if he’s in Stiles’ way, making a mess.

***

When Noah turns four, and Stiles turns twenty, Derek asks Stiles to marry him.

Stiles blinks at him confusedly, “Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go to Kleinfeld’s and pick out a nice dress.”

Derek snorts with laughter and kisses him.

***

It’s Derek’s worst nightmare. He couldn’t smell them through the thunderstorm, and when he finally caught the Wanderers’ scent, they were already upon them.

“Papa, papa, it’s Daddy!”

Noah is ten now, old enough and experienced enough to carry his own pocketknife, his Grandfather John’s, and he’s crying.

“Where is he?” Derek growls, picking up his son. “Where is your father?”

“He told me to run-”

Derek yanks open the cellar door and hands Noah a flashlight, “Stay here. Don’t use the light until I come back, okay? I’m going to go get Daddy.”

Noah nods and Derek locks the door behind him.

Stiles is completely soaked, firing his gun, bullets shattering into Wanderers’ skulls. Derek reaches him, fingers digging him his waist.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here?” he growls, yanking him towards the house.

“Derek,” Stiles gasps, “there’s too many of them!”

Derek shifts then, a mountainous wolf with pitch black fur and glowing red eyes. He tears through the horde, unforgiving in his actions. These aren’t people anymore. They’re monsters. They took Stiles’ father ten years ago, and he wasn’t going to lose Stiles or his son to them today. 

“DEREK!”

He’s distracted for a moment, but catches a familiar scent, it’s faint and vague, but it clicks when a wolf bolts through the trees, and then another, and two more. It takes at most a minute before the Wanderers are laid to waste and Derek is by Stiles’ side, nudging him with his muzzle. 

“Scott?”

***

Scott and the others had been looking for them for the past ten years, never giving up, never believing for a second they wouldn’t find them; dead or alive, they would find them.  
 Stiles cries when they shift back, gripping onto Scott’s naked body, yanking the others towards the center of the cabin, near the fire. They were all home; Scott, Allison, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Lydia, and even Melissa. Stiles felt a pang in his chest when he watched Melissa look around expectantly. 

“I thought you were dead,” Scott admits.

Stiles sobs into his shoulder and Derek leads Noah into the room. He hides nervously behind his father, but his eyes light up when he sees Stiles.

“Daddy!” he cries, and Stiles catches him in his arms.

“Daddy?” Scott asks, blinking through his tears.

Stiles laughs, wiping his nose, “We have a lot to catch up on.”

***


End file.
